


Scary Love

by Kodalinx



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Jean is an indie boy, JeanMarco Gift Exchange 2019, M/M, Nerd!Marco, Slow Build, Swearing, bad boy!Jean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:21:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21927364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kodalinx/pseuds/Kodalinx
Summary: When Jean moves to Trost, he quickly gains himself a reputation as the bad boy at High School. Marco is the straight-A student responsible for helping Jean settle in. Is it really their fault when they want to be more than just 'buddies'?
Relationships: Marco Bott & Jean Kirstein, Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein
Comments: 7
Kudos: 45
Collections: JeanMarco Gift Exchange 2019





	Scary Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lyz_martinez](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyz_martinez/gifts).



> Written for the JeanMarco Gift Exchange 2019.
> 
> Things to please take away from the references in this fic:
> 
> \- Please consider listening to The Neighbourhood, especially to scary love for this fic’s Jean vibes.  
> \- Never Let Me Go is an AMAZING novel and is also a huge recommendation!  
> \- Finally, please check out the other fics and artistry in this collection and show support :)
> 
> Other than that, Enjoy!

Jean sat in the dreary brown office. It was a small, square room, heavily packed with sturdy, old furniture. Jean was slouched in an uncomfortable brown leather chair facing the principal. The walls in front and behind Jean had large windows, one set showcasing the outside and the other offering a view into the larger reception behind them. Both were covered with thick white blinds that hung down and hid the room from outside eyes. The principal droned on in the background, but Jean had mastered the art of maintaining eye contact as he zoned out many, many years ago. It was a skill he often utilised. Truthfully, he had heard this exact spiel too many times to pay attention anymore. The introduction talks were always the usual _‘we hope you settle in well, ‘please ask staff for help’, ‘don’t hesitate to report any issues’._

Jean was used to the overly enthusiastic introductions from new schools. They were more for show than anything else; it was all just a forced display to present themselves as welcoming and supportive to new students. Maybe Jean was lucky. Always being the new kid meant he was constantly prioritised maybe more than their students of many years.

Jean had moved schools nearly every year or, failing that, every other year since he had first started high school. His mother was a self-labelled workaholic and due to that, she routinely travelled. She was a marketing manager in a large business and since Jean’s dad out of the picture, Jean moved with her. To her credit, Jean’s mother always aimed to find the best achieving high schools to enrol him in. However, her attention to his schooling tended to end there.

Elaine had never questioned why a report card had never made it back to her or why she had never been to a parents’ evening. Jean had gotten pretty adept at hiding any bad grades, and any hope the school had of ringing Elaine was far too unrealistic. She had always been too busy with work, even when she was at home. As a result, Jean had made a habit of forging signatures on school documents and report cards.

He wasn’t a bad student, but he couldn’t throw himself into a new place, knowing he wouldn’t be there the following year. And that mentality tended to affect both the grades he aimed for and his attitudes towards learning.

Now, in his second to last year, at the grand old age of 16, he was enrolling all over again. This time, in another fancy school with an impressive reputation: Trost High.

Jean supposed this year was different. After high school, he would need his grades for college applications – another thing Elaine was passionate about. However, he was weeks late from the beginning of term, which had started in the middle of September. It wasn’t uncommon for him to enrol late; Elaine hounded him each time about catching up with the work, though she was often oblivious to whether he had or not.

“And, just to reiterate,” the principal boomed, giving Jean his cue to pay attention again. “If you need anything, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to drop in, OK?” The principal gave a cheesy, exaggerated grin. With one hand, he offered an abundance of papers, whilst his other presented Jean with a firm thumbs up.

Jean mumbled a thanks, accepting the mess of information reluctantly before he trailed back out the way he had come in earlier. Jean left the reception, his array of stacked papers clamped in his hand. His collection of _crap they had unloaded onto him_ – as he now thought of it – consisted of: a colour-coded weekly timetable; a chunky school handbook; and several other loose papers with contact details and further help information. Jean was debating ditching them in the nearest bin when he was interrupted.

“Jean?” A voice chimed.

Jean’s eyes flicked to his left. A taller boy stepped forward, a gentle smile on his face. He had dark brown hair and eyes, with a warm-toned complexion. His cheeks were littered with a light trail of freckles that staggered across his cheeks and nose.

“Yeah?” Jean answered, his eyes trailing the length of the boy’s body.

He was dressed in light blue skinny jeans and a moss green fitted jumper. A shirt collar peaked out from the neckline, the top button fastened neatly. In his arms, he cradled a thick pair of textbooks. Somehow, he looked more formal even with his high-top black vans.

The boy’s whole image was a heavy contrast to Jean’s. Jean’s general colour-scheme relied mostly on black, white, and grey, with the occasional other dark colour tossed in for good measure. Today, he had donned his black, ripped jeans and a comfortable black jacket that hung open to reveal one of his many band t-shirts. A deep maroon beanie was pulled back on his head releasing several spikes of his blond hair and his few silver ear piercings. His scuffed black vans were tied messily, the laces tucked inside.

“I’m Marco. I’m your assigned buddy,” the boy introduced.

Jean knew his expression was betraying his outright confusion, but the term ‘buddy’ was a new one. Marco’s bright smile faltered at his unexpected reaction.

“Didn’t they tell you about this?” Marco quizzed, his head tipping to one side.

Jean scratched at the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah, sure,” he dismissed.

He started walking, leaving Marco to jog to catch up. Appearing again by his side, Marco seemed unprepared for Jean’s reluctance to accept help. Jean’s eyes were trained on the timetable in his hands. His first lesson was in 15 minutes.

Without real concern with direction, Jean wandered down the hall, which was filling up with students heading to their various first lessons. Marco hovered at his side, chewing on his bottom lip as he followed, deep in thought.

When they turned a corner at the end of the hall, Marco abruptly stopped. “Don’t you want me to show you your locker?”

Jean paused. “I don’t really think I’ll need it,” he shrugged.

That apparently only added to Marco’s confusion. Jean had never really had enough books and equipment to make use of a locker. He had brought one plain, new notebook with him, tucked away inside his black backpack. His intention was simply to flick back and forth for his different subjects; it was easy enough to tear the pages out when he needed to separate them.

“Where’s M4?” Jean asked, squinting down at the paper.

A jolt of life seemed to reappear in Marco. “Oh, I’ll take you there!”

“You don’t have to-”

“No, it’s OK. Come on,” Marco beckoned.

Jean trudged along beside Marco as they navigated the halls. Marco verbalised their route like a tour guide and Jean fought against his lip’s will to twitching upward. Following Marco’s lead up a long flight of stairs, they turned down another hall and soon stopped outside a class with a chunky sign above the door. _Class M4_. Jean could admit that the school’s layout wasn’t exactly easy, but it definitely wouldn’t stop him from working out his way around in his own time.

Marco made sure to rattle off the way to his next class. Jean nodded, giving a half-hearted wave as he wandered inside. Taking a glance around the room, Jean decided on a seat in the back corner of the room and sunk down. He abandoned his stash of papers on the corner of the desk and dragged his red notebook out from his backpack.

Several people were already seated, others filing through the door at random. As the room began to fill up, a boy with bright red hair slumped through the door, a bored expression on his face. His eyes met Jean’s as he neared him. The boy’s eyebrows knit together, and he stopped in place, eyeing Jean with increasing confusion. Jean stared back evenly, raising a single brow in a silent challenge. He could only guess he was in the boy’s usual seat. Jean really wasn’t trying to be an asshole. Unfortunately, with zero knowledge of the class layout, moving only meant he would probably end up in someone else’s seat.

When Jean gave no inclination that he was going to move, the boy scratched his head and turned slowly on his heel. Weaving back through the back row of desks, he settled down in a chair right beside the door.

Jean’s attention was diverted as their teacher waltzed into the room. He was a small, round man, with a dark patch of fluffy hair atop his head. He strode with his nose up and his chest out, clutching a full, bulky folder against his front. He took his spot at the front of the class, his eyes gliding over the room as he spoke.

“Hello, class. Today, we’ll pick up on regression and the statistics aspect of the syllabus.”

Jean peeled his timetable back out from under his notebook. His eyes traced over his first scheduled lesson. _Maths_. A new school, his first day, and he was scheduled in for a 9am maths lesson. Jean prematurely decided Mondays would be a good day to run late for school.

The teacher loaded up the computer and the small projector in the centre of the ceiling relayed an image to the wide, dirty whiteboard. They were set off with a warm-up exercise displayed on the screen. The response in the room was mixed. Some eagerly took notes, chewing the end of their pencils or squinting at the board as if will the answer to appear. Others slouched in their seats or drummed their pencils absentmindedly on the desk’s surface.

Jean sided with the latter group. Resting his head in his hands, he gazed out of the huge, open window to his left. There was a steady breeze causing the looming trees to sway hazardously from side to side. It was about what he should have expected in the middle of November.

Jean estimated only 5 minutes had passed when the teacher – Mr. Wright as he remembered from his timetable – changed the screen to a boring black and white slide show. He didn’t go over the answers, nor did he check who had actually done the warm-up in their books. He simply dove right into the lesson, his rough, low voice projecting to the back of the class.

Jean noted that Mr. Wright had made no effort to shine a light on the new kid, and honestly, he was thankful for that. Jean had spent more than enough time stood reluctantly at the front of large classes, a far too enthusiastic teacher always prompting him to ‘introduce himself’.

Mr. Wright rambled away about the lesson plan. Jean sighed. A common issue with all his moving around was that the syllabus wasn’t always the same between schools. In some cases, even when it was the same, not all schools taught their topics in the same order. Which is why, in his first lesson of the day, Jean happened to have already been over this topic in his last school.

Unfortunately, the flip side was also true. Jean knew there would come a point in the week when everyone else in the class would know some fundamental concepts that he had never heard of, putting him behind.

The lesson went faster than Jean had expected. No questions were thrown out to the class, no tests of knowledge directed to anyone not paying attention. It was a simple sit silent and listen type of lesson. Jean could get on board with that.

The bell was a sudden surprise that sparked life into Jean’s slouched body. Jean flipped his notebook closed and swiped it up, slotting his biro into the spine. Rather than packing it away, he tucked it under one arm and grabbed his backpack, swinging it up onto his shoulder in one smooth motion. Heading out the door, Jean moved within the heavy flow of students, following down the hall the way Marco had directed.

As he navigated the halls, a shoulder suddenly collided with his, his body jerking back at the force. He staggered abruptly, clutching onto his notebook as it tried to sail from his grasp. Finding his balance, Jean glared up, finding intense bright eyes mirroring his expression. The tide of people parted around them, leaving Jean in an open space with an angry looking stranger.

“What’s your problem?” The boy hollered. He had dark hair and bushy brows pulled down over wide, amber eyes.

“Watch where the fuck you’re going,” Jean spat.

Eyes clung to the scene and people backed away. Several people slowed down, unable to walk away from the growing tension. Whispers around them told Jean he had just made his debut in the school’s reality drama.

The boy’s eyes flashed with another surge of anger. He stepped forward, fists clenched, his mouth open ready to yell when a small, blond boy grabbed his arm, tugging him back quickly. He whispered in a harsh tone, just loud enough for Jean to hear it.

“Eren,” the blond boy scolded. “Don’t.”

The fire in the angry boy’s eyes blazed on, and yet he reluctantly stepped back into the crowd of people. Merging with the masses, he disappeared into the crowd, stalking away like a petulant child. Jean was left alone, the mass of people around him filling back into the space around him. His shoulders were hunched, his body tense. His grip tightened on his notebook and he scoffed, sulking off to find his next class.

Class no. 2 on a Monday morning turned out to be biology. Jean noted that the room was set up like a professional laboratory. There were lab bench tables in long rows running across the classroom from front to back. Stools were placed two at each bench, with a small sink in the middle of each row. Glass cabinets were on the walls, showcasing Bunsen burners, vials, beakers, and a ton of other science equipment Jean couldn’t even name.

The layout caused Jean to pause. Scanning the room, Jean decided on a stool that was off to one side, against counters that ran against the outside of the room. He dumped his notebook down in front of him and placed him bag on the stool next to him. Jean prayed any stools along the outside were for a few extra necessary places rather than a full class with every seat in use.

As the room filled and the biology teacher strode to the front of the room, Jean was relieved when no one elected to sit by him. Further along the counter, a small blonde girl sat down near the front. However, no one made to sit by her either, and that gave Jean the peace of mind to take his eyes away from the open door and settle them on the front of the class.

The biology teacher was a small, ginger-haired lady, with a short bob and thin, black glasses. She wore a long, white lab coat that cut off at her knees. She typed away furiously on her computer before picking up a small black remote. Aiming it up to the projector, she pressed a button firmly and proceeded to pull down a plain, white screen by a dangling cord. The screen came to life with a colourful presentation slide. Bold black letters were centred on the screen.

Jean frowned at the words. The fact he didn’t recognise any of them didn’t fill him with confidence. The main rows of lab benches were full of students now, several stragglers sat on the outsides like Jean. There was a steady hum of chatter around the room as everyone settled in and took their stuff out from their bags.

Jean wiggled his biro from the notebook and found his first clean page. The teacher clapped twice loudly and without warning, causing Jean to jolt in his seat and the rest of the class to fall silent. Jean eyed the people behind him. Luckily no one seemed to have noticed his scare.

The teacher opened the lesson with a few refreshing facts from their last class. Heads across the room nodded along whilst Jean released a long, exasperated sigh. Unfortunately, this lesson was a shining example of him suddenly being thrown behind. And even more so, of how difficult it was going to be for him to try and catch up with a topic midway through an extensive explanation over several lessons.

Jean resigned himself after 15 minutes of squinting and frowning at the projector screen. From where he sat, staring out of the window would have been an obvious give-away of his lacking attention, and Jean was yet to figure out if this was the type of teacher to target students who weren’t paying attention.

Jean took the much safer option of scribbling away wildly in his notebook, hoping that it could be mistaken for furious note-taking. Jean had never felt that he was the most creative person. He wasn’t great at drawing and so his scribbles were exactly that. His biro swirled across the page creating different shapes or strange ambiguous doodles.

In the faded background noise, the teacher’s voice broke through the barrier Jean had created. “Who can tell me what that would cause?”

Jean cringed. He made a conscious effort not to move or draw attention to himself. He hoped his ‘new-kid’ status made him exempt from answering any questions.

“Yes, Sasha!” She chimed.

Jean didn’t even listen for the answer. The instant relief flooded him, and he resumed his scribbling, ignoring the discussion behind him. There may have been more questions after that, but Jean didn’t hear them and most importantly, he was never asked any.

When the bell rang it wasn’t soon enough. Jean was quick to grab his stuff and dart for the door. Breaking out of the lab, Jean found himself in a wave of students that drifted down the hallway in a slow march. As they reached the top of the stairs, the flood of pupils met another oncoming group. Both groups merged on their new path back down the stairs. Jean kept with the steady flow and once they reached the bottom, Jean noted how many students bee-lined through a pair of wooden double doors. That was how Jean uncovered the canteen’s location. The others that split off into their small groups and cliques again, fled away to their own hangout spots.

Jean picked a direction at random and wandered. Only once he reached the end of a long hallway did he spot a door held open to the outside. Meandering outside, Jean found himself in a courtyard. It was wide and open yet deserted. Jean could imagine the area packed in Spring or Summer. However, the weather was getting cold and that would be enough to keep everyone inside.

Jean moved over to one of the few dark, wooden benches. Stepping up onto it, he sat atop the table, his feet resting where he should have sat. Yanking his phone out from the front of his backpack, he wrestled out his tangled black headphones and plugged them in. Several knots were still in the wires when he slot them into his ears.

Swiping through his phone, he found a playlist he had put together a while back and shuffled the songs. The music faded into his ears, his surrounding blurring into the background. Absentmindedly, Jean unzipped his backpack and rustled around inside until his hands caught what he wanted. He tugged out a small chocolate bar and instantly fiddled with removing the navy wrapping.

He bit into the chocolate coating, crunching into the biscuit inside. He decided he enjoyed the space he had found; the peace was a nice and comforting difference from the busy halls. He made a note to remember his way so he could return for lunch. It was a short break, but it was enough to power him through another lesson at least.

His third lesson that day was History. Jean’s energy was draining, even with the addition of his chocolate bar. When he entered the class, most of the seats were taken. He was forced to sit at the end of a long row and found himself next to a tall girl with dark hair. A thick strand of hair fell across her face, a bright red scarf tugged up near her bottom lip. She was beautiful and seemed to know a lot in history, which meant Jean didn’t have to.

Once he managed to battle through the lesson, he paced back towards the same courtyard. He was thankful when he found that it was still empty, his eyes locking on the same bench he had inhabited before.

Jean plonked himself down again, his hands working independently to unravel his headphones and resume his playlist. He didn’t hear Marco approach. The boy called out, with no answer. Marco raised an inquisitive brow. Stepping to Jean’s left, he peered over his shoulder, his eyes drawn to the headphones. Jean’s eyes slid to his and he moved to take out one of his headphones. There was a low, faded melody that escaped, but Marco didn’t recognise it.

“Hey,” he said. “How did your first classes go?”

Jean eyed him sceptically. Marco stood before him, his large backpack double strapped on his back, another bulky textbook in his arms.

“You don’t have to keep checking up on me, you know,” Jean said. “I’m not gonna’ complain if you don’t take me to every class.”

In reality, he was a little confused as to how Marco had found him.

“I know. I want to,” Marco replied with ease. There was no hesitation or embarrassment in his tone. He gave a gentle smile that looked natural on him.

With that, Marco sat down beside Jean’s feet on the bench, placing his backpack down next to him. The two boys unpacked their lunch, Marco’s bundled neatly into a clear, rectangular lunch box, whilst Jean had shoved an assortment of random food items into his backpack earlier that morning.

Marco asked him more questions, mostly small talk like what classes Jean had next, if he needed any help getting there, and whether Jean had met anyone else in his lessons. Jean brushed off the offer of another guided tour through the halls but dug out his timetable and passed it over to Marco, who studied it. Marco’s lips formed a pout as his eyes ran over the page.

“Well, we’ve got English together!” Marco announced.

Jean hummed in response. He reasoned it would be easier to sit with Marco in lessons if the other boy insisted on following him around. It wasn’t that Jean didn’t like Marco; he just didn’t need baby-sitting after this many school introductions. He didn’t need Marco putting his time aside for no reason or helping him when he had better things to do.

It turned out he had a few lessons in the week with Marco, but other than that their timetables differed. Marco warned him about certain teachers and not to be late, as well as giving him some explanation on what they were learning in different subjects.

After they finished their lunch and heard the inevitable loud ringing, they ventured back inside to their next lessons.

***

The rest of Jean’s day blurred together. He didn’t speak to anyone else in his lessons, but no teachers picked on him to introduce himself or answer questions, so it was a good middle ground. When Jean was finally released from his final lesson of the day, he sprang for the door. He couldn’t wait until he was outside to shove him headphones back into his ears and blast his music, drowning out his surroundings. He didn’t notice the eyes that clung to him or the whispers that surrounded him.

Following down the crowded halls, he broke out of the front exit of the school and made his way out the gates. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind that Marco might have looked for him. He was too focussed on bee-lining home.

***

The walk home was roughly 20 minutes though it seemed like less. The already low light was dimming. The streets were bare, with the exception of students that dawdled home, though even they fizzled off at different points until it was just Jean turning onto their new road.

As Jean reached the middle of their long stretching road, the top of their new house peered out over tall, bushy hedges. Thanks to Elaine, they were renting a rather large, old, wooden house. She had always provided for them and made sure they were in a good area, in walking distance from the school, and with enough space for their needs.

Jean sauntered up the path and onto the porch. Swinging his back around, he unzipped the front pocket and wrestled out his key. Unlocking the door, he stepped inside, locking the door behind him.

The house was dark and silent. The dimming light from the streets was filtering in through the large windows, casting a box of light against the floor. Jean grasped the deep red curtains and drew them closed. He moved over to the tall, grand lamp in the corner and clicked it on, casting the room in a gentle artificial light.

Jean meandered his way through to the kitchen. It was a pale, yellow room, with white and beige accents across the room. An orange post-it note on the fridge caught his attention. Ripping it off, he knew what it said before he read it.

_Jean, be home late tonight. Stocked up on food._

Jean crumpled it up in his fist and launched it carelessly over his shoulder towards the closed bin. It bounced off the rim, landing at the base. Jean hunted through the fridge, finding nothing to snack on but some fresh pasta Elaine had stocked up on that he could make use of later.

Kicking the door shut, Jean retreated to his room with aim of wasting time until dinner.

***

Jean knew how to cook. He at least had a lot of life skills that Elaine had made sure to instill in him, even if she hadn’t taught them herself. Though there was a focus on meals that were showy and much more time-exhausting. Jean had no interest in cooking Coq-au-vin for one when Elaine wasn’t around.

He grabbed everything he needed to make the most basic carbonara sauce he could. Not long after, he scooped the contents into a large bowl and grabbed a fork from the drawer. The quick and easy method of cooking suited to him much more.

Jean withdrew himself again, fleeing to his bedroom after he placed what he could into the dishwasher. They hadn’t been moved in long, but Jean had a tendency to stick to his room. The house was empty most of the time and nothing downstairs appealed to him. He didn’t watch a lot of TV and he could stream movies on his laptop and play his music upstairs alone.

Jean still had several boxes of his things to unpack. They were piled up in the corner at the foot of his bed. Though he ignored that now for a later date. In the comfort of his room, he set up his laptop in front of him, laying back on his double bed. He quickly lined up an episode of the latest American Horror Story season. He ditched his empty bowl on his nightstand, without his eyes ever leaving the screen. It was 3 and a half episodes later when Jean heard the noise from downstairs.

Jean prepared himself for the rush of draining interaction. Elaine waltzed through the front door, babbling away on her mobile. Jean heard her tossing down her keys into the glass bowl she had so strictly placed in the living room. She roamed the house as she talked, her feet tapping up the stairs as her voice neared.

A minute later, Jean’s door was opened, Elaine stepping in with a wide smile. She wore her smart work attire, which consisted of a white blouse, black blazer and matching black trousers. Her heels were glossy but formal. She waved as she chatted away, Jean giving a pathetic nod back. Drawing the phone away from her ear, she covered it with her hand and stage whispered to him across the room. Jean counted himself lucky that he got that much attention.

“Good day?”

He shrugged. “Was fine.”

She nodded, satisfied with the response and spun on her heel, marching back out and firing away on another long conversation. It was business-related, it always was, and Jean waved off the brief affair, returning to find out what Sarah Paulson was facing this time.

He watched one final episode before he called it quits. The back to school routine made him feel drained more so than usual and he surrendered to sleep ready for another new day.

***

On day 2 of Jean’s first week, he walked into school at a leisurely pace. He was 5 minutes late to his first lesson, though he wasn’t pulled up on it. He moved swiftly to a seat and dumped himself and his stuff down, the teacher refusing to pause in his long-winded explanation of the lesson plan.

In the near silent room, whispering to Jean’s left caught his attention. When he looked across, two girls quickly turned their gaze back towards the front of the class. Jean’s eyes narrowed at them. It wasn’t a subtly attempt to talk about him. Aside from that encounter, his lessons had been easy enough, straight through to break, when he found his spot outside and relaxed in the fresh air. Marco didn’t show up at break. Jean stuck his headphones in and played his music until the bell doomed him to another hour of urging his brain to understand.

Checking his timetable, Jean realised his third lesson was English. English with Marco, though he hadn’t seen the boy all morning. As he wandered into the class, Marco was already sat in the middle of a row, his notebook and pen neatly laid out in front of him. Marco was wearing a thick, grey jumper today.

He looked up, spotting Jean and he smiled waving Jean over to sit by him. Jean made his way over, dragging the seat out and plopping down. Glancing around, he watched as other seats filled up.

Leaning across to Marco he muttered, “Hey, Marco. Aren’t I in someone’s seat here?”

Marco chuckled awkwardly. “Oh, uh, no. I came in early and asked Christa if she’d swap seats.”

Jean blinked back blankly and nodded. Marco didn’t need to make him as comfortable as this. High school wasn’t an easy time for most people. Though Jean was getting the feeling that Marco really was the warmest person he had ever met.

A tall woman with dark hair stood at the front of the class. She wore comfortable flowy clothes in bright colours and had a permanent beam on her face as she scanned the room. That constant smile reminded Jean of Marco and he glanced back and forth before he concluded that that was the only shared feature.

“Okay, settle down,” she announced. “Now, first off, I want to say welcome to our new student, Jean. And don’t worry, I’ll give you my copy of the book at the end of the lesson to take away with you.”

Jean sunk down in his chair though it did nothing to deter the eyes from ogling him. It was bound to happen at some point. Jean was thankful that he had escaped until now. It wasn’t like people didn’t know he was new. It was just embarrassing to have the attention directed towards him.

“We’ll be covering the theme of relationships within the novel. You should all be prepared for a question on how the relationships develop and what quotes can be used to explain a relationship.”

Marco pushed his copy of the book in the middle of them, though Jean had no idea what he could do with it now. Jean examined the cover. _Never Let Me Go._ He had never heard of it, though he knew it must be a classic for them to study it in schools. The cover was a dull yellow, with a brush stroke of pale blue and brown that looked like a young girl in a long dress.

As the lesson progressed, Jean found that Marco knew a lot about the relationships theme in the book. When a question was posed, Jean could hear Marco mutter unintelligibly under his breath before his hand shot up. He was chosen several times in that hour to answer a question and each time he had a quote or reference in mind with a heavy explanation that convinced Jean that Marco must have written the novel himself to know this much.

It turned out that ‘Kathy had romantic feelings for Tommy which developed throughout the novel, whereas Kathy and Ruth could be argued as rivals in many scenes due to their conflicting personalities, which was implied by the tension in their speech and body language’. Jean had no clue who any of these characters were but nodded along whenever Marco spoke.

Each time the teacher nodded enthusiastically back at Marco and praised him for good observation. She then reiterated his point and added other ways that the students could say the same thing for different parts of the book. Jean wasn’t bad at English Literature. He just believed a lot of the time it was a guessing game of forcing meanings onto sentences that weren’t all that big in expression.

As the bell echoed through the halls, the class became full of energy and movement. Students rose up, cramming their things into their bags and making for the door. Jean and Marco packed up their things. Jean managed quicker considering Marco had far too much to fit in his bag.

The teacher drifted over to them, dropping her copy of Never Let Me Go onto his desk and offering Jean a warm smile. He gave a small appreciative nod in return. He picked the book up, quickly sliding it into his backpack.

A final group of girls were leaving the class when one of them gasped just loud enough to grab Jean’s attention. Glancing up at the group he heard the hushed, excitable tone.

“ _I heard that too!”_ One girl chirped, her eyes stealing a glimpse back over her shoulder.

Jean frowned as the group disappeared out of the room. As Marco finally picked up his remaining stuff and hitched his back up onto his shoulder, they made their way out of the class and into the hallway. The feeling niggled at the back of his mind. His eyes searching the crowds of people for any eyes on him. When he found no one meeting his eyes, he turned to Marco.

“Hey, uh, Marco,” Jean started. “Have you heard any rumours about me?”

Marco looked at him, conflict in his eyes as he chewed at his bottom lip. Jean understood his hesitation. Asking the nicest boy at school to tell him all the stuff people were saying behind his back probably wasn’t the most logical thing to do. He didn’t want the watered-down version.

“Hey, I can see people are talking, alright? I’d just rather know what people are saying,” Jean shrugged, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.

Marco paused for a moment before speaking. “Hmm, well…Some of the girls think you’re, like, some bad boy stereotype,” Marco said, a tinge of redness appearing across his cheeks.

Jean grunted. Whilst he never liked the inevitable gossip trains that all high schools seemed to have adopted, he had definitely heard worse about him; that he was some loner, a loser to many of the preppy popular kids.

“Well, what do the boys say about me?”

“Well, after that whole thing with Eren, they kind of think you’re a badass. I think you earned some kind of tough guy brownie points.”

“ _Eren_?” Jean echoed, his brow furrowing.

“You bumped into each other in the halls?” Marco reminded. When Jean’s eyes narrowed, Marco further explained. “I had a class with Armin, Eren’s friend. He told me since he’s one of the school buddies too.”

Jean grunted again. “Yeah, well, he was the one acting like a knob,” he muttered.

Marco dropped it, trailing the route back to the courtyard with Jean by his side. Jean thought over the comments. _People were labelling him the bad boy?_ That was new. He shook the thought from his head. People would always think what they wanted, Jean couldn’t change that, so why bother with it all?

They wandered out to the same spot, Jean hiking himself up onto the table and Marco settling down beside him. They ate and Marco asked about his other lessons and any new developments. Jean ranted about the number of lessons he would have to catch up on, including the English lesson that they had just sat through.

Marco noted the complaint and hummed to himself. Jean eyed Marco. He didn’t understand why the boy was hanging around when he didn’t have to. Jean had given him an easy out. He wasn’t the type to complain or snitch on someone.

“Are you reporting back on me?” Jean blurted out.

Marco’s head shot up, their eyes meeting. Marco’s eyes were blown wide. After several seconds, his expression cracked, his hand covering his full mouth, unable to hold back his laughter. “No, Jean,” he waved off. “I don’t have to do that unless you’re struggling with anything. Like, anything you’d _want_ me to report in.”

 _Huh_. Jean hadn’t been expecting that. Admittedly, he wasn’t used to Marco’s unique brand of friendly persistence. “Nah, not struggling. Just in need of catching up with a few lessons,” Jean said.

Marco’s interest piqued at Jean’s new confession. Jean should have realised then that telling his assigned ‘buddy’ that he needed to catch up with some lesson’s content would lead somewhere.

“I could help, if you want? We could always meet at the library during lunch. I could book a space for us?” Marco offered.

Jean tried not to cringe at the enthusiasm. He understood it was Marco’s job, but the more that he persisted, the more Jean was realising why he was a buddy. Marco was invested in learning and his education in all aspects; he got good grades and did any extra-curricular activities he could.

His perception was just so different to Jean’s.

“Library’s not really my kind of place,” Jean said, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m not very good at studying, Marco.”

Maybe if it was anyone else, they would have left it there. Maybe they would have sensed the reluctance in Jean’s voice, that tone that warned people away. However, Marco Bodt wasn’t anyone else. He hummed, processing the response. Had he been a cartoon character, this would be the moment that he snapped his fingers, a lightbulb pinging above his head.

“That’s okay! We can always study after school hours? I might not be very good at teaching, but I’ll try my best. I mean I can definitely help with English.”

The beaming smile on his face told Jean there wasn’t much point in trying to brush it off. Scoffing, Jean saved his breath and agreed to a study session with Marco. He didn’t have high hopes for how this was going to go. Marco could be the poster boy for the straight-A student. Jean, on the other hand, had many a time been described as underachieving. He couldn’t count the number of times teachers had told him that he ‘needed to apply himself’.

“After school sounds better. Maybe like Friday?” Jean suggested.

Marco’s eyes lit up, sitting up in his seat. “Sounds great!”

***

With their study session planned, Jean felt a little less frustrated in the lessons he was behind on. He made whatever notes he could on the content, then every so often would scribble a vague sentence to look up online or ask Marco.

***

On day 3, Jean’s day improved during his third lesson of the day. He was sat in his French class, forced into the middle of a row with other people again and this time, next to a boy with a shaved head and bright green eyes. They acknowledged each other with simultaneous awkward nods.

As the teacher – Madame Martin – welcomed the class, the boy beside him leaned over, his elbow knocking into Jean’s.

“Hey,” he nudged. “You’re new, right?”

“Yeah, so?” Jean grumbled.

The other boy held his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just curious. I’m Connie,” he introduced.

“Jean.”

“Cool. Hey, Jean, you any good at Fren-”

His words were cut off when Madame Martin, a greying lady with a thick French, snapped suddenly at them: “Would _either_ of you boys like to translate the sentence on screen?”

Their eyes darted up, meeting stern blue eyes that burned into them past big black glasses frames. The pair shrunk in their seats at the scrutiny. Connie’s mouth was gaped open, trying impossibly to find words.

Jean’s gaze flit across the words, his mouth blurting out the sentence in an easy pronunciation before he really thought about it. Connie’s baffled expression was frozen as he turned his confusion to Jean. Their teacher released them from her furious death glare and returned to addressing the whole class. She explained the break-down of the sentence and components, gesturing wildly with her expressive hands.

Jean had French heritage and family there that they didn’t really speak to anymore. Though, Elaine hadn’t missed the opportunity to hire him a tutor, assuring him it would be useful one day. He supposed it was, but only academically. Since he was a young kid, they had never gone back to France to visit family, and Jean had no one else he could practice with.

“Heh, guess that answers my question,” Connie snorted quietly.

Jean decided that Connie was cool. He was goofy but interesting. He seemed to have a relaxed energy about him, not to mention he was at least bad at French so Jean could finally relate to someone that wasn’t excelling at everything in school.

Their very public warning had been enough to keep them silent for the rest of the lesson. When they were finally set free, Connie released a long, long yawn, stretching his arms up high.

“Hey, Jean,” he said. “I’m heading to the canteen to see people. You wanna’ join?”

“Oh? Uh, I’m meeting someone,” Jean replied, stammering through his words. “Maybe next time?”

Connie nodded, giving a bold thumbs up. “No worries.”

He watched as Connie split off towards the canteen. Jean headed out to his spot – as he was now referring to it. He liked Connie. He had a good energy about him that made Jean feel at ease like Marco. He hoped this was a good sign for the weeks ahead. That maybe once Marco didn’t feel obligated to stick around him, that he might have other people.

***

At lunch, he filled Marco in on his interaction, and gained a bright, shining smile for his story.

“That’s great, Jean!” Marco praised.

Marco was elated that Jean was settling in well. He had started making more friends, he was working hard on grades, and he seemed happy. Marco’s ‘work’ was essentially done. Jean didn’t need him anymore. But this felt different. He and Jean had connected, shared interests, hung out outside of the dingy school setting. Marco wasn’t prepared to forget about all of that.

Marco wanted to know so much more. His eyes slid over Jean. He really hadn’t asked a lot about him considering. Marco ventured to change that.

“Jean, what was the other places you went to like?” He

Jean scoffed. “Shitty,” he summed.

Marco’s round eyes gazed up at him, waiting. Jean hadn’t intended to say more, but it was like staring at a puppy or a child. He felt compelled to say more.

“Like this, I guess. Not so much with the whole ‘buddy’ system or instant friend.”

His tone was light, and Marco held onto the last word. Friend. It brought a small smile to his lips. Jean considered him a friend.

Marco asked more about the school and Jean confessed his annual or bi-annual relocations weren’t exactly his choice. He went where he was told and stopped kicking up a fuss years ago. Once he had moved more than once, he hadn’t thrown himself into the next school as much. He had less friends and acquaintances, which made it easier to pack up and leave. Marco looked a little sad when he heard of Jean’s track record of jumping from place to place, his brows knit together, his mouth turning down at the corners.

“Well,” he said once Jean finished. “We’re glad to have you here.”

Jean scoffed, his eyes avoiding Marco’s as he felt a rush of warmth take over him. He was glad they were outside. The cool air did wonders to keep the heat from rising to his face, though Jean refused to look directly at Marco until the feeling passed.

***

Day 4 came and went with a repeat of many lessons he had already had that week. Him and Marco sat at lunch, the place feeling like their own secret getaway. Jean was surprised when no ever seemed to go out to the courtyard. Surely, someone else thought it was a good spot to relax.

***

Finally, Friday arrived. Jean saw Marco at lunch as usual, meeting at their usual spot. Jean moaned about the day and Marco took mental notes of each subject and what to cover that night. The list was stacking up, but that was only natural.

Marco wore his same moss green jumper from earlier that week and Jean eyes were dragged to the shirt collar that poked out at the neck. Jean, on the other hand, had a very different band top on, though the same comfy, black jacket. He wore his black beanie, pulled back on his head.

“I can come find you at your last lesson, if you want?” Marco offered.

Jean scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, sure,” he shrugged.

***

Jean’s day ended with maths; possibly the worst thing he could have ended the day with. But as planned, he waited outside the lesson and not 5 minutes later, Marco’s face appeared in the crowd of people weaving past each other in the halls. As he neared, he gave his charismatic wide beam and Jean smirked back as Marco’s head bobbed closer through the gaps of students.

Once together, Jean jerked his head to one side and Marco followed his lead. They navigated the halls, leaving the school behind as they breached the gates and ambled home. As they neared Jean’s house, Marco commented on how nice the area was, ogling the large, grand houses as they strode by. The weather had stayed dry as they walked, and not long later they reached the house and travelled up the driveway to the Porch.

Jean unlocked the door and stepped through the threshold, the harsh sound of paper scrunching under his feet. Looking down, he kicked the mess of leaflets and letters to one side and gestured Marco inside. Marco stepped in, careful to tread lightly.

Jean leaned across him, pushing the door shut before he darted up the stairs leaving Marco to follow him up. Jean kicked open the pale wooden door ahead of them and opened it into a large space. Marco stepped through, his eyes tracing the room.

The plain white walls were barely visible under the mass of band posters and imagery. The carpet was a soft, light grey, with a darker fluffy rug in the centre of the room. Jean’s bed was in the far-left corner, the rest of his furniture outlined the room leaving an open space in the middle.

Jean tossed his bag down at the foot of his bed and plonked himself down on the mattress. Marco glanced over at a small wooden desk against the wall. The surface was overloaded with various items, including chargers and books. The chair that accompanied the desk, was also stacked high with clothes that flowed over onto the floor. Marco opted for settling down on the floor on the comfort of the thick rug. Digging through his backpack, Marco tugged out several notebooks and that same large, bulky folder that Jean recognised.

As Marco organised his books in front of him, Jean’s eyes slid over him. Marco was in his element; his hands worked away independently like he was solving some great puzzle.

“Jean? Were you listening?” Marco asked, looking up from his spread-out notes.

The floor had come alive with colour, the many different neon highlighters that Marco had used standing out against the white lined paper. It was clear from the look Marco was giving him that he already knew the answer.

“Are you wearing two layers or is that a sewn in collar?”

He couldn’t help himself. Marco’s quizzical face crumped into a short, stifled giggle.

“Let’s start over,” Marco amended.

Marco reiterated his plan for the evening; starting with Maths and powering through as many topics as they could. His hands were brought to life as he indicated different pages spread out before him. Jean found the excitable gestures made his lip twist into a smile. He made sure to pay attention this time, not allowing himself to be distracted by any of Marco’s other gestures.

They dove into maths and Marco had made a list of what had already been covered. Passing it over to Jean, he read off what he already knew and gave the list back to Marco, who examined the leftover topics.

They started with the easiest and first thing Marco had been taught on the list and worked through as and when Jean felt confident. Jean’s notebook quickly developed several full and extensive full pages of notes. They weren’t colour-coded or highlighted, even though Marco had offered his stationary to help, but they were more than he would have ever gotten on his own.

Marco turned out to be a great teacher. He was clear and understood a lot of what they went over without having to consult the thick, boring-looking textbook he had brought with him. Marco explained and Jean made sure to listen and note down whatever would help him remember.

After 2 hours of maths, Jean’s brain felt overloaded with information. He had caught up on a lot and had plenty of notes in case he forgot calculations or methods. Marco didn’t even look bored. His tone was still chipper and sweet as he lay on his stomach, his head resting in the palms of his hands. His feet swayed in the air absentmindedly.

Before Marco could begin the next big topic, Jean interjected. “Okay, we need a break,” he decided, clapping his notebook shut loudly. “I’m thinking pizza?”

Marco looked up from his notes with a smile and nodded, following suite and placing his notebook off to one side. Jean stood up and paced over to his desk drawers. Yanking the top one open, he found a bright and colourful leaflet amongst the mess. Burying one hand under the assortment of mess atop his desk, Jean managed to tug his laptop out and carried it back over to his bed, where he flopped down again.

Lying on his stomach, he opened his laptop in front of him. The desktop loaded quickly, considering Jean didn’t really store a lot on his laptop. Pulling up the website, Jean masterfully navigated the page. Scrolled down, he found his typical order – A BBQ base, with loaded toppings – and added it straight into his basket.

Marco stood beside him, leaning down and scanning the screen. His tongue peaked out as he squinted at the screen and Jean had to put a lot of effort into not cracking a smirk at the second notably charming habit Marco had. Shuffling over on the bed, Jean tipped his head for Marco to join him.

Marco sat beside him and Jean relinquished control of the laptop, allowing Marco to scroll through the many options. It didn’t take long before Marco had found his order; a simple pepperoni pizza.

Once they’d added their pizzas, Jean studied the leaflet for deals and found a two for one offer that fit perfectly. Satisfied with his find, he tapped in his details and set the delivery time for ASAP.

Marco had removed himself once Jean was through to entering his address. His eyes worked over the room, his eyes catching on an overloaded shelf on the far side of the room. Wandering over, he let his eyes glide over the magnificent collection of CDs. From what Marco could see, they were mainly bands. _The Neighbourhood, The 1975_ , _Catfish and the Bottlemen_. It was music that spanned the years, yet all within the same common genre: Indie music.

Jean was finishing up with the order and closing his laptop into sleep mode when he spotted Marco’s attention to his music collection. “See anything you like?”

Marco hummed. “I know them, I’ve just never listened to a lot of them.”

Meandering over, Jean’s fingers skated across the tops of the CDs, finally stopping on an album in the centre of the crowded shelf. He wiggled it out of place, the cases either side slotting closer together with the newfound space.

Marco’s eyes brushed over the cover as Jean pulled out the disk and opened the front of his CD player. The cover was dark and basic, a simple black sign with neon lights spelling out _The 1975_. Pressing down a button, the disk began to spin in place, increasing in speed as the slow sound of music faded higher. A man’s voice sang accompanied by haunted echoes. Jean’s lip twitched upwards.

Jean settled back down on his bed, grabbing a slice of pizza from the box and taking a large chomp out of it. Marco stood for a minute, letting the music meet his ears in a sweet melody. As the short intro track faded out, the first song began and Marco moved over to the bed and sank down next to Jean, diffing into his own pizza.

After a few songs, Jean could help his natural reaction, relaxing back into the mattress and letting his eyes fall shut. Marco mirrored him, falling back and listening to the album as he warmed to the songs.

They lay like that, eating pizza and listening to music. Occasionally, Marco threw out questions about the band – _Jean’s favourite song, if he had ever been to see them live, how he first heard them_ – and Jean answered each question proudly: his favourite song wasn’t on the album they were listening to, but he promised to introduce Marco to the song; he hadn’t seen them live, only on account of getting to the concerts was hard and had never known anyone else that wanted to see them; and finally, he had first heard them through a chart topping song called ‘ _The Sound_ ’ and his interest had begun there. When he dove deeper into their music, he found himself invested and since, he had kept up with the song and album releases.

Before long, they had made their way through the album and Marco glanced at his wrist. “It’s seven,” he said.

Jean jerked his phone out of his pocket and lit up the screen. _7:03PM_. The time had gone fast. They had covered a lot of maths and eaten a lot of pizza, but in winter the nights were shorter, and Jean didn’t want to leave Marco walking home late.

“Yeah, okay,” he replied. “You wanna’ leave it there?”

"Yeah,” Marco said. “We could go over English next week? It’ll give you a chance to read through and look up anything you want to know.”

Jean nodded. He hadn’t really considered making the study sessions a regular occurrence until now. He thought this would be a boring session of more learning useless crap he was never going to use again. However, Marco had been fun to be around. And Jean actually felt like he had learned maths.

Jean dug through his bag, grabbing the book and staring at the cover sceptically. He flopped back onto his bed, eyeing the cover. He wasn’t exactly excited to read it, but at least with Marco’s help he wouldn’t feel lost.

“Let me guess,” he ventured. “Old fashioned, romantic tale that’s super boring. Probably featuring outdated themes like sexism, racism, and anything else we don’t do anymore.”

Marco’s nose crinkled. He thought for a moment before speaking. “Uh…no. More like dystopian novel about clones that are harvested for their body parts.”

Jean’s eyes blew wide. Launching himself into a sitting position, he searched Marco’s expression for any hint that he was teasing him. The other boy stared back with rounded innocent eyes.

“Fuck off,” Jean responded automatically, any more progressive response failing him. “That’s…actually cool.”

“Uh, actually more like tragic,” Marco laughed lightly.

As Marco passed over his book with pencilled in notes, Jean considered maybe English Literature could be something he enjoyed if all his teachers had thought to teach books about clones and organ harvesting. Jean flipped to the first page, his eyes divulging the introduction with much more interest this time.

“Wow…” he awed. “Did not expect that. Yeah, I’ll give it a read before next week.”

There agreement for another study session was uplifting in itself. Marco packed away his things, then rooted through his bag again, drawing out a small black wallet. He peeled it open, sliding out a note and offering it out to Jean.

“For the pizza,” he added.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. You can get the next one,” Jean dismissed.

 _The next one?_ The words sent a spark through Marco’s body. With another affirmation of more study sessions like this one, Marco tucked the note back into his wallet, an infectious smile playing on his lips. Truthfully, this had been the best study session or hang out he had had in a long time. It wasn’t that he didn’t have other friends. They just didn’t do things like this. Learning about Jean, relaxing with new music and pizza, was all so simple and just _fun._

Jean escorted him back down the stairs. Reaching the bottom, Jean paused at the door. Turning back to Marco he scuffed his feet against the floor, clearing his throat. A beam of nervous energy shot through his body. He willed it away in vain.

“Hey, Marco?” Jean called. “You’ve got a phone, right?”

Marco chuckled. “Yeah, I have a phone, Jean.”

Jean scoffed lightly. “Heh, right. Do you wanna’ maybe just swap numbers?” He tried. “I mean, only if you want to.”

Marco beamed. “Yeah, that would be great!”

Marco unloaded his bag again and fished inside the front pocket. He dragged out his phone, unlocking it and offering it out to Jean. Jean took the device in hand, his fingers brushing against Marco’s. It was a warm touch, the kind that stuck with him after his hand had retreated. He punched in the numbers, saving his name as Jean with a peace sign emoji for good measure.

Marco took his phone back, replacing it in his backpack before giving a short but sweet wave to Jean as he headed out the door. Jean smirked. Catching himself, he scoffed and ascended back up the stairs to the comfort of his room.

***

It was only an hour later that Jean’s phone chimed, alerting him to the lit-up screen. Checking the notification, Jean grinned. A new message had come through from an unknown number.

**FROM: UNKNOWN NUMBER**

**MESSAGE: Hey :) Just letting you know I’m home and this is my number. Marco.**

Jean unlocked his phone, saving Marco’s number in his sparse contacts list and adding an emoji with square glasses at the end. It only made sense that they match. After that, he fired off a reply and placed his phone back off to the side.

**TO: Marco**

**MESSAGE: Good to know. See you Monday. Jean.**

***

Jean’s weekend was quiet. Elaine was busy throughout the day and only gave away her presence in the early morning or late night with the sound of her feet tapping around the house as she rambled away into her phone. It worked out for the best.

Jean put his time into looking up the resources online for his lessons, making whatever notes he could and comparing them with what him and Marco had already run over in maths. The rest of his time was split unevenly between reading Never Let Me Go, catching up with American Horror Story, and listening to his music.

Jean had managed to power through a lot of the book in his spare time. He was more invested than he cared to admit, but Marco was right. It was a tale of tragedy. The whole dystopian futuristic reality was unsettling. His eyes were glued to the pages as he turned them over painfully slow.

His phone chimed, startling him out of his concentrated state. He glared at his phone. Swiping it up from the nightstand, he unlocked the screen.

**ONE NEW MESSAGE**

**FROM: Marco**

**MESSAGE: Hey :) Forgot to tell you about Spark Notes. It’s a website with an analysis of Never Let Me Go on it. Should help for themes and characters.**

Jean grinned at the screen. Jumping up out of his bed, he flipped the book closed, making sure to remember the page number he last read. Treading over to his desk, he dug out his laptop and returned to his bed, angling the screen up towards him.

The screen came to life and he clicked straight onto his search engine and typed in the website, his eyes flitting back to his phone screen to check the spelling. Hinting search, he instantly found the site, including the subsection for Never Let Me Go.

Jean took in the whole wad of information; there were chapter break-downs, character and relationship explanations, and theme and motifs discussions. Jean stared at the gold mine of easy information and revision notes, silently thanking whoever had sent him Marco Bodt.

***

The following week was much easier than the first. Jean’s maths lessons were making more and more sense as he flipped back to what him and Marco had gone over. English was his easiest subject now besides French. The one time he was quizzed in class on how he felt the character of Ruth was presented, he had a perfectly understandable answer due to his genius study buddy and one very detailed website.

The only subjects that Jean was still behind in were sciences. Marco wasn’t in his classes, though he hoped that this weekend anything he could offer would help massively compared to what he currently knew.

***

When they met at lunch that week, Jean was surprised to find Marco had beat him to their spot outside. He grinned, strolling over and throwing himself down onto the bench. Marco greeted him with his typical friendly chime, and he replied with a genuine reciprocated smile.

Locating his headphones from his backpack, Jean set up a playlist, shoving one headphone in his left ear. Marco stared at him, his mind working around why Jean was blocking him out. Testing the volume, Jean nodded to himself, unable to prevent the toothy grin on his face.

Grasping the other headphone that was dangling down to one side, he offered it out to Marco. The other boy’s eyes widened, his gaze flitting up to Jean’s again making sure he understood. Jean gestured again for him to take it, so he did, tentatively placing it in his right ear.

The wires weren’t very long, urging Marco to shift closer and angle his head towards Jean’s. Jean hit play and the wave of music that flowed into Marco’s ear was vaguely recognisable. His eyes met Jean’s awaiting gaze, and Jean flashed the screen towards him. _The 1975_. It was one of the many songs they had listened to on the weekend.

Jean voice pierced through the song. “Hey, Marco. What music do you listen to normally?”

“I don’t listen to a lot of music, but I guess charts stuff. Pop stuff a lot of the time,” Marco replied.

Jean nodded, the pair letting the music take over. Their silence didn’t feel awkward; it felt calming. Marco smiled to himself, the drifting sound of music soothing him. It was a good way to spend their free hour. Marco didn’t recognise the next song and when he glanced over again, he read words that danced across the bottom of the screen. _The Neighbourhood – Let It Go_.

It was interesting for him, listening to Jean’s music. It felt like he was learning more about that side of him and sharing in something personal. The songs were all tinged with deeper meaning and several darker themes. But they were real and honest.

They made their way through the playlist, other names and songs appeared throughout the hour and Marco felt his eyes slide closed. He listened to each of the songs with an appreciation, making an effort to remember at least the artist’s names so he could look them up later that night.

***

That Friday, they followed their same routine and met outside Jean’s last class. They marched home together, sharing how their day went and what they needed to go over once they reached the house. Jean had more consideration for food this time and had made sure to check they had the ingredients for fajitas, hoping that was something general that Marco would like.

They began with covering English. Marco brought along his copy of the book, with all of his notes and extended explanations of the text in his notebook. Jean flicked through, noting down any other interpretations, alternative key quotes and generally anything that he couldn’t find on Spark Notes.

Once they had powered through English, they moved on to science. That was much harder, and they found that after the introductory topics, Jean needed more time to wrap his head around the content. Their session went much faster than the first time, though Jean had filled a lot of notes in his one notebook – it was filling rather quickly thanks to their heavy study sessions.

When Jean glanced at his phone, his eyes blew wide, _6:35PM_. “Yikes, Marco, we gotta’ get food.”

Marco nodded, slapping his book closed instantly. Jean smirked, guessing he was feeling hungry too. Jumping up Jean led them down stairs and into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he clasped his many different ingredients, dragging them out and passing them backwards to an unsuspecting Marco, who quickly reacted, catching them as they piled up.

Jean closed the door again, moving to the cupboards and yanking out a large frying pan, wraps, and spices amongst other things. He lined them all up on the countertop. Spinning back to Marco, he offered, “Fajitas?”

Marco hummed his agreement. They worked around each other. Whilst Jean set up the pan, Marco moved to cut peppers and onions. He worked away, chopping easily before he slid the vegetables onto a plate ready to be dumped into the pan.

It was faster and notably more fun having Marco cook with him. Usually, Jean thought about cooking as a necessity. He worked fast and in silence, with an aim of just making something that could fill him up.

Having Marco here made the energy different. It felt productive and, soon enough, they sunk down into the sofa, plates on their laps, with two bulky fajitas each. Jean turned the TV on, more so for background noise as they ate. A Friends episode was midway through, but it was easy watching and Marco made no complaints as they munched away.

When they finished, Jean dumped their plates in the dishwasher and Marco run back upstairs to grab his stuff. They met back at the front door, Marco’s bag slung up on his shoulder. It was just past 7:30PM and Jean felt guilty for not realising sooner that he had eaten up more time than usual.

“Sorry about the time. You want me to walk with you?”

Marco smiled at the offer but refused. “No, don’t worry, it’s not too far. I’ll text when I’m home.”

Jean nodded, holding the door open for Marco as the other strolled back out and down the porch. At the end of the driveway, he glance back, giving an endearing wave and characteristically Marco beam. Jean waved back, watching the boy as he went.

***

Their weekly sessions became a routine that they didn’t have to speak about. They saw each other in the week at lunch and hung out in their spot, saw each other in the few lessons they shared, and then, come Friday afternoon, they met up outside the school gates and walked back to Jean’s together. They always went to Jean’s. With Elaine never around they could roam the house as they pleased. They worked through what they could, made sure get food, and listened to Jean’s music collection, which Marco was starting to know well.

In their third week, Jean walked into the school with a bustle of energy rocketing through his body. He sat through his first two lessons, though his mind was distracted. His eyes darted to the clocks in both classes. The time ticked by at a torturous, slow pace. When break rolled around, Jean packed up his things slowly, purposefully allowing the rest of the class and even their teacher to saunter off and leave him in the space alone.

Reaching into his backpack, he made sure to carefully slide out the case from where he had kept it protected between two books. Jean checked it over for scratches or any wear and tear. The case looked clear and clean, aside from some scratchy writing he had scrawled on the disk inside.

_For Marco._

Jean’s mouth felt dry as he stared down at the CD. He had been sat in his room after Marco left on Friday. He had set up a disk in his CD player, letting _The Neighbourhood_ lyrics drift into his ears.

_Your love is scaring me…No one has ever cared for me…As much as you do…Ooh, yeah, I need you here, oh._

He remembered the first time he shared his music with Marco. It was a frequent thing for them to share Jean’s headphones and play his music together during break and lunch, which had sparked an idea. Grabbing his laptop, he let his fingers fly across the keys furiously.

He had burned the CD with a long collection of songs, many they had already listened to together; others were new that he thought Marco would like. It had taken a while, and Jean hadn’t really questioned it at the time. The inspiration fresh in his mind as he mentally ordered the songs he wanted to add.

Once the CD was burnt, he had dared to burrow into the chaos that claimed his desk, yanking out a thick, dark marker. He signed the disk, slotting it into a clear case and sealing it. One the back he added a numbered track list. He had stared down at the finished present, his lip twitching upward.

Now that he was in school, his palms were sweating, electricity shooting through his veins. Placing the CD back in his bag, he zipped it up, pacing out of the room. He was already late into break.

He made his way out to the courtyard. Stepping outside, he spotted Marco instantly. Their gaze met, the pair giving simultaneous grins.

“Missing me?” Jean teased.

Marco flushed a pale pink and Jean took the hint to lay off. Settling down next to him, Jean checked his phone. They didn’t have long of break left. He decided he could give Marco the CD at lunch when they had more time. He look up to find Marco inspecting his face.

“You OK?” He asked.

“Yeah, all good,” Jean dismissed.

They spent their 10 minutes with idle chatter. It made Jean feel at ease, his thumping heart slowing as they talked. Jean knew the feeling would return at lunch. He just had to make it through the next hour and then he could give Marco the CD and forget his pent-up nerves.

***

In their English lesson, Marco answered most of the questions, his focus on the teacher throughout the lesson. Jean observed him. He didn’t mean to, he just could keep his eyes away from taking in all the small things that were Marco.

His eyes lapped up the sight of the light trail of freckles that spattered his cheeks. The small, almost permanent smile that adorned his lips. The small strands of hair that fell forward on his face.

The hour passed and for once Jean missed a lesson he was prepared to engage with. The feeling of butterflies flipping out in his stomach returned. He stayed silent as they walked the familiar route to the courtyard.

***

As they settled down, Jean took a deep, steady breath. The action drew Marco’s attention. Jean clutched onto his bag. His grip was far too tight, but he struggled to bring himself to open the backpack. _How was he meant to do this? What did he say?_

“Jean, are you sure you’re OK?” Marco questioned.

Jean swallowed around the thick, constricting lump in his throat. Marco was staring at him, worry painted into his expression. Jean cleared his throat, though it didn’t make him feel any better.

“Uhh, yeah. I’m fine. Actually, Marco, I, uh, I have something…for you,” he braved.

His heart jack-hammered in his chest. He tried his best to keep his breathing steady, letting the cool air calm him. Unzipping his bag, his hands easily found the case, carefully drawing it out. Jean was silent as he passed over the CD. Marco accepted it into his grasp, his eyes working over the cover.

“You made me a mix tape?” Marco asked.

Jean felt the heat rush to his face. He hadn’t quite thought of it as a mix tape. That seemed a lot more personal.

“It’s just a playlist. It’s got all sorts on there. I just thought you’d like it.”

Marco’s bright, warm smile gleamed. He pulled the CD into his chest. It was a whisper, all he could manage, but Jean heard his distinct, breathy ‘thank you’. Jean felt the heat scorch his face. Luckily, Marco was too invested in the CD to notice.

***

The week was staggered with texts from Marco. They were mostly about the CD. He had started listening once he got home and continued to splurge through the disk over the next few days, firing off his instant reactions to Jean.

**FROM: Marco**

**MESSAGE: Wow. Just listened to RIP To My Youth. That was powerful!**

Jean smirked. It was a proud moment when he realised Marco was a converted Indie listener now.

**TO: Marco**

**MESSAGE: You’re damn right! One of my favourites. Would also recommend Daddy Issues if you liked that one ;)**

***

Things were great. Jean was happier than he had been in a long time and so was Marco, though neither of them said it. Four weeks later, they were in the midst of their hardest study session so far.

“Urgh! Marco I’m never gonna’ get this!” Jean sulked, tossing his notebook down.

Science was becoming the bane of his existence. The topics were confusing even with his notes and it took him far too long to wrap his head around the new content of each lesson, leaving him stuck behind in spite of their study sessions.

“You will!” Marco consoled. “It’s hard stuff, you don’t have to pick it all up straight away.”

Jean groaned, slapping his hands over his face and dragging them down harshly. He had certainly struggled worse than this before in school, but Jean was feeling the pressure more now that his grades mattered. There was only so long that Elaine could ignore it before she would inevitably bring up the talks about college.

“It’s not like it matters. Who knows when or where we’ll move next?” He voiced.

“Well, what if you got to stay this time?”

Marco’s voice was hopeful. He had his ever-optimistic tone, and Jean really wished he could think like that right now. Things could be so much worse – they had been in other schools – but Jean was troubled with the fact that everything he had built here was temporary.

“I’m not that lucky,” Jean spat. He didn’t mean to pile this onto Marco, but the destructive thoughts had their claws in him. The stress was building up in him. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere anyway,” Jean shrugged. “I’m not going to college with my record. Who the fuck cares about a good for nothing, loner?”

In an instant, Jean felt hands clasp his face, angling him towards determined brown eyes.

“Hey, don’t ever say that!” Marco snapped. “ _I care_! You’re _not_ alone!”

It was the only time he had ever seen Marco show anything close to anger. Marco’s brows were pulled down harshly and there was a determined glint in his eyes. It was an expression that looked wrong on him.

“You’re amazing, Jean!” He cried. “You’ve been more to me in one month than anyone else around here!”

Jean sat, stunned. His wide eyes searched Marco’s face as the other boy caught up with the words that had flown from his mouth. Marco reminded him in that moment of a deer caught in headlights. His lip trembled, unsure what to say or how he could correct himself.

Without thought, Jean surged forward. Their lips met with firm pressure. For several seconds, they were frozen in place. Then, Jean felt hands slide up against his skin, one moving to his cup his jaw, the other sliding further into his hair and pulling him closer.

There was electricity shooting through his veins. It was a new feeling, like a magnetic pull forcing him closer. It felt right, the way their bodies fit together, like jigsaw pieces destined to meet.

He was kissing Marco; and Marco was kissing him back.

 _What did this mean_? Jean hadn’t really thought at all before he moved. It was impulse. _Did this mean they weren’t friends anymore? Was Jean even ready for anything else?_ He had never kissed another boy before. But with Marco he hadn’t questioned it until their lips were locked.

Jean pulled back. Thoughts were flooded his head too fast for him to work out any answers. His mouth hung open, his eyes searching Marco’s. Marco’s hands were still holding his jaw and nape. Fear and insecurity reflected back at him. Marco’s hands abruptly retreated, fleeing back to his own space and clamping over his mouth. His wide eyes glistened in the light.

“I’m sorry-” he blurted out from behind his hands.

“You kissed me back.”

The words left Jean’s mouth before he really thought about them. Marco’s eyes met his. They glistened even in the dim lighting. Marco searched his eyes, his breath hitching. His face was flushed red, and Jean had no doubt he probably looked the same. Jean’s whole body felt warm.

“Yeah,” Marco whispered. “I did.”

A beat of silence passed over them. Their gaze was locked in an impossible embrace.

“What does this- I mean, do you like…” Jean trailed off, the sentence left up in the air.

Marco visibly gulped. His mouth was bone dry, his throat constricting. He felt his body frozen in place, like a deer in headlights. He couldn’t shift his gaze, he couldn’t move. He forced the words to leave his lips.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “I do.”

Jean’s breath faltered and shook. It was a realisation that felt like an explosion of thoughts and feelings racking his body like an instant collision.

“Wow,” Jean managed. “So, we both…”

Jean’s mouth formed many shapes, though he struggled with any further pronunciation. Forgetting his words, he shuffled forward, his hand reaching out and moving to cup Marco’s face. Marco mirrored him, his hands resting on either side of Jean’s face.

“You never said anything,” Jean questioned.

Marco smiled, but it was warped. It wasn’t his usual smile. This one didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I didn’t ever think you’d be interested in someone like me.”

Jean scoffed. “What?”

Marco’s tone was different this time. His eyes were fixed on his shuffling feet. The image was such a contrast to the normal happy, bubbly Marco.

“Jean,” he mumbled. “I’m not exactly popular.”

Jean stared back, stunned. Shaking his head, he slid his hands down to Marco’s shoulders, grasping them firmly. He had to restrain himself from shaking him.

“Marco, do you _really_ think I care about that?” Jean quizzed.

Marco’s response was low, almost childlike as he stared up into Jean’s determined gaze. “What about everyone else?”

“Who gives a shit about everyone else?” Jean yelled defiantly. “Marco, I care about _you_. Not what everyone else is going to think.”

Marco’s eyes shone back at him. Those large, round orbs were filled with emotion. In a beat, Marco launched himself at Jean. Their lips met again. This time, there was comfort and meaning. Their arms surrounded each other, pulling each other impossibly closer.

When they pulled back, their foreheads pressed together, they were both grinning, an infectious happy laughter escaping them. In that moment, Jean was done with holding himself back at Trost.

***

They had stayed in their tight embrace for a while, both delving into the comfort that the other provided. Finally, Jean wiggled up right, nudged Marco.

“We need food,” he stated.

Marco nodded silently. Releasing a sigh, Marco let the wave of tiredness wash over him. He needed the re-nourishment. After a moment of thought, he locked eyes again, a glint there that hadn’t been previously.

“Pizza?” He proposed.

Jean grinned, moving away briefly to grab his laptop.

***

When it was late and they were both full and drained, Marco insisted he should go home. Jean walked him to the door. As he held the door open, letting Marco step out onto the porch, too much remained unsaid. _He liked Marco. Marco liked him. They didn’t care what everyone else thought…but what next?_

“Marco,” Jean shot out suddenly. Marco turned back to him, that easy smile comforting him like it always did. “You think maybe…You’d want to do something…not here? Go somewhere together?”

Jean could have smacked himself. The word he was looking for was _date_. Do you want to go on a date? Marco chuckled, the sweet sound tugging at Jean’s heart.

“That would be nice, Jean,” he beamed.

“It’s a date,” Jean concluded. Well, at least he managed the word eventually.

Marco’s cheeks were bright pink, his smile taking over his face as he waved joyously. He promised to text once he was back, though warned he could very well pass out as soon as his head hit the pillow. Jean watched him go, a medley of emotions mingling inside of him.

Not long later, he got the text he had been waiting on.

**FROM: Marco**

**MESSAGE: Home :)**

**TO: Marco**

**MESSAGE: Good. See you Monday? :)**

**FROM: Marco**

**MESSAGE: See you then! :D**

***

On Monday morning, he saw Marco at break, waiting in their spot. He strolled over, settling down next to him and whipping out the headphones for them both. As they shared their music, Marco rested his head on Jean’s shoulder. The movement spread warmth throughout his body. Leaning his head down, Jean let his head sit against the top of Marco’s.

The bell rang, signalling their split for the hour. As they stood and Jean packed away his phone and headphones, Jean called out.

“Hey, at lunch, can I meet you at the canteen?”

Marco tilted his head. “Sure?”

With that, they parted, each trekking to their third lesson of the day.

***

When the lesson ended, Jean wandered down the halls and followed the other students down the popular, busy route and in through a large set of wooden double doors. They opened into a large, artificially bright canteen. The room was bustling with students. Queues were snaking down against the walls for lunches and snack foods. Tables were filled and overcrowded in some spots.

Marco stood inside the door off to one side. He smiled upon seeing Jean, stepping forward to meet him. Jean gestured him to follow as he meandered through the canteen, his eyes never stopping their constant search until he landed on a familiar face. Sauntering over, Jean stopped beside a table. Marco waited beside him, his confusion evident on his face.

“Hey, Connie” Jean called. “You mind if we join you?”

Connie looked up, his expression taken aback, but he quickly recovered. His features smoothed out into his usual warm grin.

“Hey, Jean! Yeah, of course, man, get over here!” He jeered.

Jean stepped around the table as Connie shuffled over, allowing him room to flop down onto the bench beside him. A girl sat across from him, with chocolate brown hair and eyes, munching away contently. She shuffled across, allowed Marco to join the table beside her.

“Sorry, right! This is Sasha, my girlfriend,” Connie introduced.

Jean gave a swift greeting, Marco doing the same, though his seemed much warmer. There wasn’t any hope in trying to out-do Marco when it came to friendliness or warmth. That was OK though, because Jean could always rely on Marco.

“Connie, Sasha, this is Marco,” he said. They grinned, both offering enthusiastic waves.

“Glad to finally meet you to both,” Sasha said before directing her attention to Jean. “Connie told me about your wicked French skills.”

Marco’s head fell to one side like a puppy. “Jean, you’re good at French?”

Marco had never really questioned why they hadn’t studied French together. Though now, he had the answer. It was an unexpected surprise, and definitely something he planned on chasing up in private.

“Guess I’ll have to show off some time,” Jean joked.

Marco blushed, letting his eyes find interest in the table in a futile attempt to hide his reaction. Their table’s conversation flowed easily. Jean deemed Sasha cool like Connie and the pair seemed to gel easily with Marco’s warm personality. Jean lost the battle with the grin that threatened his face.

He suddenly felt a lot better about his life at Trost High for at least three reasons.


End file.
